It Stings
by BigEvilShine
Summary: Rosemarie Kim works a blue collar 9 to 5 job in construction prepping sites for demolition. When she and her crew are charged with prepping a condemned factory they come across a seemingly bottomless pit not marked on any blue prints... Scarecrow x OC. Potentially DubCon and NonCon in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_**CHAPTER 1**_

"I can handle it," I snapped. My supervisor floundered, wringing his calloused hands.

"Are you sure Rose? There isn't supposed to be anything down there, we don't know what's inside," he said ominously. I tightened the harness around my pelvis and shot him an irritated look.

"Listen, I don't know about you but I don't get paid overtime 'round here. Let me drop down there, take a peak and we can all go home," I finished, tying back my straight black hair and replacing my scuffed up yellow hard hat. Jacobson sighed, slumping his shoulders as he double-checked the connection between my harness and the kernmantle rope. I pulled on my gloves, yanked once to make sure I was anchored properly, and approached the opening. Jacobson squinted critically when I turned to give him a nod.

"I'll be quick about it."

"You better. And don't go yapping to the union about this," he relented, tossing me a fat flashlight with a handle. Grabbing it in one hand I shined it down into the problem.

My crew and I were checking the building before the demolitions specialist showed up. Usually we did minor stuff, chase off homeless people and mark locations that were hazardous to walk through, amongst other tedious things. This old factory had been an eyesore in Gotham for nearly a decade and we'd just received the OK to prep it for demo. But at the last minute of our check around we'd found an opening in the floor, a very hidden trap door that wasn't on any iteration of the building's blue prints. The opening yawned deep and dark, my light easily consumed by thick blackness not too far down. One side of the descending tunnel had rebar rungs imbedded in the concrete but both Jacobson and I weren't about to trust that, hence the climbing gear get-up.

Hooking the light to my hip I swung over into opening, carefully rappelling down into the darkness. I moved a touch quicker than I should have but I was pretty eager to go home. It'd been a long day; the factory was huge, old, and condemned. I'd had a portion of the ceiling collapse on me and been covered in lead paint chips, asbestos, and rat skeletons. Praise Jesus for protective eyewear and facemasks. Descending further into the tunnel I glanced up. The amber evening light that had leaked through the building's broken windows was a dim ring well out of reach, at least fifty feet overhead. I continued to walk down the wall, the bouncing light on my hip offering a rare oasis in the dark.

My talkie crackled.

"You got ground yet?" Jacobson's scratchy voiced asked. I pushed my light, revealing a scrabbly concrete floor a bit away. I clicked on my end of the talkie.

"Yeah, thought I found the door to hell for a minute, though." Unclipping from the rope I grabbed my light and swung it in an arc around me. It illuminated a medium sized room, crumbling brick and concrete walls with exposed rebar and girders telling me it was as old as the rest of the facility. I reported my observations to Jacobson as I investigated further.

"What in the Sam Hill is it there for? What would a factory built in the damn twenties need a hidden room for?"

I shined my light on shattered glass bottles littering the floor, following the mess until I found a series of enormous vats lining the. "Prohibition. It's a speakeasy, looks like."

"Huh, well if that ain't something straight out of a history book. Hurry up down there kid, there's a Gotham U game tonight, don't –t wanna lose my faaa - rite seat at thhe ba - AARRRRR -," his voiced crackled and hissed. I frowned at the walkie-talkie, there must be too much concrete and metal to pick up a clear signal.

Without the talkie I was alone under the earth, wandering through glass and cracked stone with only my flashlight to carve out a field of vision. I shivered, my exposed arms covered in gooseflesh from the cold and odd seclusion. It may have been the low ceiling or even my tired mind but I felt cramped, as if I could turn and find an unwelcome company peering over my shoulder. I shook myself out, trying to dispel the nerves.

I refocused on checking the room. This was exactly the type of place that the homeless and crazies of Gotham liked to hole up in like rats. Last thing the company we worked for needed was another scandal of how sloppy workers had allowed another hobo to get caught in a contained blast. My lamp illuminated a door. It was ajar; the contents of the unassuming entranceway were a deep black emptiness. Releasing a deep breath I realized I could see the moisture in the air. Was it really that cold down here?

Approaching the door I tried to open but was met with resistance. The wood must've expanded or something, it happens. Forcing my weight into it I was able to slowly and loudly scrape the door open until it suddenly swung free to reveal the interior beyond. Stale cold air swept over me, rustling my orange safety vest. I stayed outside the door. The reptilian base of my brain urged me to cease and desist. I stubbornly fought through my intuition and entered the void.

More vats lined the walls, books and papers were scattered all over. A pile of chairs dominated the center of the room, stacked erratically to the ceiling. I didn't focus on it, the imagery too close to something out of an Eastern horror flick. Stepping through the madness I heard a metallic ding violating the oppressive silence. I froze, swinging my light to see a metal gas canister rolling towards me.

Rats. It had to be rats. The thinness in the air shifted, a flush of stale wind ghosted my neck. Heart in my throat I whipped around. Nothing.

Okay this is out of control; _I'm_ out of control. Just another bad basement, I'm fine. Somewhere between shivering and trembling I forced through the bubble of primal instincts and quickly swept the rest of the room. Under the desk, behind the pile of chairs, around the vats, and I didn't see anything worth noting.

"KIM, K-K-NNnnn."

I shrieked, dropping my light and scrabbling to shut off my walkie-talkie. It continued to belch out ludicrous interpretations of my name as my sweaty hands slipped off the buttons. The flashlight struck the ground, bounced, and flickered. I clicked off the static of my talkie as the light went out, plunging me into pitch black.

The darkness was a vacuum, my chest crushed in as the breath left my body. Dropping to my knees I scrambled across the floor, scraping my nails and palms against concrete and glass as I searched for the light. I had trouble breathing now, my mouth falling open in anxious gasps. I can't breath. I'm going to die.

_This place isn't a basement - it's a grave._

My knuckles brushed something hard. Desperately I grabbed at it, flipping the object between my hands. That's when I saw it, across the room, the softest glow. I looked up sharply, my starved eyes drinking in the meager light.

My brow pulled together as the subtle orange bloom began to drift back and forth. I sat back on my knees and watched transfixed as the shining spots in the dark moved closer, twisting to a secret rhythm. I was absorbed, hypnotized, as it continued its snake dance until it was nearly on top of me.

I was no different than the prey of the deep oceans; my craving for luminescence would not bring me safety.

I flung the object in my hands at the light and flung back just as the orange lights struck, metal sparks exploding off the concrete. I got to my feet and ran blindly, breathing ragged.

_Something is down here with me. _

I crashed into a wall, ricocheting off and breathing through hot blood pouring from my nose. I scrambled back, diving as the glows bit into the wall where I'd just been. The long strike tearing a bitter rainbow of sparks and screaming metal overhead. For a brief moment something else was illuminated in the sparks, something horrible.

Bolting through the void I knocked my knee into something thin, shrieking as wood and metal groaned and clattered as the mountain of chairs poured across the floor. Lungs tight and heart beating impossibly fast I found the door and ran for it as fast as I could. Behind me furniture and metal knocked into each other the thunderous crashes accompanied by the quiet slap of bare feet.

I found my rope in the dark; wild eyed I searched my harness for the proper rigging. My breathing wasn't getting enough oxygen, my head swam and my tongue felt too thick and choking. Yanking once to make sure the rope was secure and tore up the wall.

"JACOBSON PULL ME UP!" I screamed at the small circle of light that seemed impossibly far away. I grabbed the rope and ascended with brutal swiftness. My shoulders and arms burned with exertion, never stopping my movement and never looking back into the dark. It was right behind me, I could hear it – the breathing. In the last possible moment I whipped my legs up against the wall, the venomous orange light spraying another shower of sparks below. Suddenly I was yanked upwards. Grabbing onto the robe with blind fear I renewed my efforts to survive.

"What the fuck Rose!?" Jacobson shouted. I peered up into painfully pure light and screamed, "PULL ME UP!"

The last twenty feet were the longest in my life. My supervisor grabbed me as soon as I came into reach, and yanked me bodily from the hole. I hit my knees and scrambled from the hole, tearing the harness and rope off as tears rolled down my cheeks. Jacobson dropped to his knees beside me, grabbing my shoulders. "Calm down kid, tell me what happened" he searched me with scared, worry eyes. I could feel my entire body shaking as I met his eyes, my breathing rapid and shallow.

"Something's down there."

"Like an animal or – "

"N-no! Maybe - I don't know," my voice broke, a wet flood pouring from my eyes. Jacobson yanked me against his chest, patting my back until I was under control even as my nose and glass cut hands bled all over his front. "Shhh, don't worry kid you're fine." I shut my eyes, leaning into the warmth of his barrel chest as my breathing evened out into only the occasional ragged breath. There was a clatter. I shrieked, on my feet before Jacobson even looked behind him.

The trap door had shut.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Jacobson finished my report for me and had one of the guys send me home with two halves of a tampon stuffed up my nostrils. I ended up keeping my lights on in my tiny studio apartment, not quite capable of shaking off the shivers. Sitting in bed with a bowl of Italian leftovers and a can of Pepsi I watched the evening news on my phone.

Nothing too bad today. Another set of bombs found and disabled in the subways, a new victim of Mr. Zsasz found in the uptown, there was a break in at one of the Falcone Warehousing and Storage buildings that ended in three dead, and of course the news concluded with a warning about the upcoming long weekend. The Calendar Man was still at large.

Just another night in Gotham.

Next up was the roster of currently unaccounted for super criminals. I'd made sure to catch this part of the news everyday for the better part of the decade since I'd moved into town. I'd lasted here longer than my parents because I knew not to wander too close to the sewers, go near anything covered in green question marks, or go to the Second National bank when Two-Face wasn't locked up. They hadn't been as smart.

"_Tonight's roster includes Mr. Zsasz, Calendar Man, Firefly, Deadshot, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, and the Riddler. Residents of the uptown and the Narrows are advised to stay indoors after dark and not go out alone. Next up, Gotham University's unfortunate end to the season –,"_

I finished my fettuccini alfredo, chasing it with the rest of my pop. Not too bad, at least Joker wasn't walking the streets. Yawning into my sleeve I rolled off the bed and dealt with my dirty dishes in the kitchen. I was shaking water off my hands when I heard something click from the other side of the room. I frowned, stilling to listen. Wiping my hands on a dishcloth I tossed it over the edge of the sink and stepped out of the kitchenette and closer to the noise.

My door was open.

Not wide open, not even ajar. The open latch rested against the doorframe. A crawling feeling prickled down my back. Glancing around the suddenly huge apartment I snapped the door shut and slid the deadbolt into place, adding the chain for good measure. I grabbed a steak knife and walked the length of the room, check behind and under all the furniture and appliances, then checked the coat closet and bathroom. The shower curtain hung as a milky barrier over the tub. It rustled softly as the air conditioning kicked on.

I took a shaky silent breath and slowly approached the opaque plastic cloth. Tensely I touched one edge of the curtain before smacking it open, the rings overhead chattering noisily. Empty. I found myself breathing raggedly, posed like Norman Bates right outta _Psycho_. Dropping the knife off in the kitchen I chastised myself for being a panicky dumbass.

I rolled into bed after a shower and the rest of the nightly rituals. Yanking the covers up I felt something rough on my stomach. Thinking I must've dropped food in it earlier, I grabbed at the offending crumb. My hand came back with an envelope. I slapped the lamp beside my bed on so fast something in my shoulder popped.

I tore through the thick paper of the plain envelope without hesitation. If I stopped to think I'd wimp out. Yanking the contents out I didn't find a letter. It was a Polaroid of my bed with numbers scrawled in the white space. My hands were shaking.

My social security number.


	3. Chapter 3

_**CHAPTER 3**_

"Say that again?" I had my face held in my hands, sitting at an officer's desk down at the Gotham city police department. The cop shrugged, placing the phone back in its cradle.

"Sorry Miss Kim, your super says the security tapes were recorded over last night, no footage shows anyone suspicious near your floor or on any floor for that matter," he shrugged, popping his gum. I gripped my fingers into my hair, pulling.

"What about fingerprints? Can you check the note for any, or even my door?" I begged, screwing my eyes shut. The cop, Cunningham, sighed loudly and rudely.

"No Miss Kim, only prints on the evidence are yours and your front door was wiped clean."

"So what am I supposed to do?" I balked, sitting straight up and staring at him, "somebody was in my apartment, they know my fucking social security number!" I shouted. Cunningham took his time to reply, whether it was to let me calm down or because he was bored I don't know.

"For now we advise you change your locks and invest in personal protection. I wouldn't worry too much Miss Kim, this kinda thing happens all the time around here. Nothing usually comes of it," he shrugged, blowing a pink bubble. I felt my grip on reality slipping, I grabbed on the edge of his desk with a death grip, my eyes wide and unstable. No wonder this city had such an issue with the costumed criminals when it was jackasses like this guy taking them down.

I was back on the street with the 'letter' kept as evidence back at the GCPD in case something came of my situation. I rubbed my tired eyes. I hadn't slept since I got the note and I wasn't about to without changing the locks, at the very least. I briefly entertained the idea of buying a gun but with my dwindling bank account I knew I didn't have the money or the time to invest in classes, the piece, or a license. Calling in a locksmith I decided to wait until they were nearly done before returning. Spotting a coffee shop with free wifi I knew how I was spending the next few hours.

Entering the shop I found a spot in the corner with my back to the wall and fiddled on my phone for a bit. The shop was pretty busy in the early morning, plenty of people sat around reading newspapers and clicking away at their laptops. I played a few puzzle phone games, which wasn't as fun as it usually was considering the circumstances. That's when I saw the text.

_**From: Jacobson  
**__u ok ? _

_boys chckd the hole 2day_

_Ddnt fnd anythng_

_Let m kno if u r good_

That's nice of him. The text speak was forgivable since he still used one of those old keypads with three letters per key. Jacobson was a great supervisor and could be a total hardass but that was usually for my benefit. Occasionally we'd get a beer after work but it wasn't for anything but companionship. I wanted to tell somebody about the whole deal but family was out of the question and I'd lost contact with most of my friends since they'd went to university and I'd joined the workforce. Whatever, it won't hurt to ask

_**To: Jacobson  
**__can I call u?_

My phone started ringing instantly. I answered.

"What happened?" Jacobson demanded. I gave him the short and dirty version. He was silent for a moment.

"I'm coming over."

"Don't 'cause I'm not there."

"You staying somewhere else?"

"No I'm just out. I'm getting the locks changed at the moment."

"Let me stay over then, just the night," he pleaded. I groaned in the back of my throat, itching my forehead. I don't want to admit it but yeah, I'm freaked out. I'd love to have someone over that I could pretend would keep me safe but I know better. Whatever the fuck was under that factory wasn't something my supervisor could keep away.

"Fine. Whatever. Bring your own beer," I relented. Jacobson laughed.

"I'll come over around six, bring pizza with the beer," he promised.

We said our goodbyes and I slouched back into my booth, dragging my legs up in front of me with my back to the wall. I dropped a hand over my eyes and chewed on my lip.

What the hell am I supposed to do? Seriously. I hate this city. There's something wrong with it. Maybe it's like in _Poltergeist_ and Gotham was built on an ancient Native American burial ground. I snorted, more like the goddamn entrance to Hell.

The shop filled up during brunch, I was ignorant to the hustle and bustle save for the sounds and smells. Sitting in the corner with my eyes covered I almost nodded off a few times. Chocolate, cream, vanilla, and coffee left the place smelling homey and sweet. The constant white noise of subdued chatter had me heavy eyed and slumped into the booth. When I finally got up to leave I saw something on my table and found my legs weren't working. Slowly I reached across the tabletop, my fingertips brushing the corner of another envelope. This one was thicker, something substantial inside. Anxiously glancing around the shop I saw no one suspicious or distinctive, just the average gathering of Gothamites. I turned to the woman sitting closest to me.

"Excuse me Miss did you see who left this?" I asked holding up the envelope. She looked up from her tablet and shook her head, smiling apologetically. I asked the same question to two other people near me but none had seen anything. Pinching the bridge of my nose I took heavy breath then ripped open the package.

"Oh… _goddamit what the fuck_?" I moaned, causing my neighbors to shift uncomfortably.

A stem of foxglove flowers fell out of the envelope.


	4. Chapter 4

_**CHAPTER 4**_

"Why do you still have it?" Jacobson shouted from my couch. I stood in the kitchen, securing the flowers and envelope in a Ziploc bag.

"It might need to be used as evidence."

"You're talking like you're about to go missing," the construction worker grumbled into his beer. I put the bag in my fridge, to preserve the flora, and headed out to the couch.

"You're a city guy, you don't know," I shrugged. I grabbed a slice of supreme pizza and a bottle of hard cider. He gave me a skeptical look, "I don't know what?"

"Foxgloves are poisonous, animals and people that eat it get sick. My mom always called them dead man's bells to keep me from messin' with them," I took a lengthy gulp of cider, wiping my lips with the back of my hand, "if you eat them you get hallucinations, tremors, delirium, vomiting and all that other nasty shit."

Jacobson chewed on a crust, his brow furrowed. "You don't think it's just some loon giving you a pretty flower?"

"Don't be stupid, that shit doesn't grow natively here. Unless fucking Poison Ivy is stalking me then somebody had to get that plant from outside of Gotham because they want me to get scared," I snapped, tired and worn out by the entire situation.

"I hope it's Poison Ivy. I always wanted to see her," Jacobson said in a small voice. I rolled my eyes. Don't get your hopes up, it's probably Scarecrow," I grouched. He choked on his pizza, whipping to face me with a horrified face.

"Think about it, using the process of elimination he's the only one that's left. It isn't a holiday so Calendar Man is out, Zsasz doesn't play games like this, Poison Ivy wouldn't clip a plant, Firefly and Deadshot don't fit the MO, and if it were Riddler then everything would be covered in green question marks," I threw out a hand, gesturing wildly. Jacobson didn't want to see the truth.

"It could be some other regular creep, Rose. Not every bad person in Gotham spends their time in Arkham," he reasoned.

"Are you stupid? Look at what's been happening. Every move this guy makes is meant to scare me, the photo shows my home can be violated, the social security? That's for paranoia. That's my entire identity as far as the government cares, my whole life can be thrown down the shitter with that information. I'm suspicious of everyone. The flowers seal the deal. Scarecrow works with fear toxin so he sent me a poisonous flower to creep me out and put me on edge because, besides being some kinda fucked up ironic spin on sending a girl flowers, he's subtly threatening to poison or kill me. Yesterday we found one of his hideouts or something, he was the one chasing me and he followed me above ground. Understand?" I was flushed by the end of my tirade. My eyes prickled with tears again. Jacobson rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide it. He'd gone pale.

"The stress is getting to you kid. Get to bed," he tried to blow off the whole moment, patting me on the knee while he got up for another beer. I grimaced, shoveling down two more slices of pizza and another cider. I wasn't arguing to be right here, I'd _really_ enjoy being wrong about this one. Slapping a couch cushion over my face I screamed into the fabric. One good, long, ragged scream of frustration. Then I got up and slapped Jacobson on the shoulder as I made my way to bed. I fell in and dropped into sleep like a rock. Super criminals be damned I need my beauty sleep.

…is what I thought before I woke up in the dead of night. My entire body had tightened into the fetal position, my fingers digging into the covers as I checked the room with unnaturally wide eyes. Cold sweat chilled the length of my coiled body, every muscle taught as I searched the room.

Something was wrong.

My heart was heavy in my chest, every pump sending a dull echo through my lungs and torso. The throb of my pulse was in my ears, nearly deafening.

Jacobson wasn't on the couch. The moment I realized this the bathroom light clicked on, pouring out from beneath the door. Okay, he's in there. When he comes out it'll break whatever this tension is. I focused on the gap under the door and waited.

Forty minutes later I was crying silently.

There had been no movement the entire time. No sounds came from the room. My chest constricted over my swollen, frantic heart. I have to get up. I have to find out what happened to Jacobson. But I couldn't move, fear had locked every muscle in place; I was so sure if I moved I would crack the thin malevolence in the atmosphere and unleash something unimaginable. Shaking, I forced my rock heavy legs over the edge of my bed and crept towards the bathroom.

My hands throbbed from squeezing my sheets, the cold air of the apartment brushing over my legs and neck as I approached the slim yellow light. Licking the sweat from my upper lip I drew a silent, shaky breath and touched the doorknob. It clunked open like a car backfiring, the simple sound filling the empty evil apartment like a gas. Pushing the door open, I grabbed onto the doorframe, my knees buckling as I wheezed a soundless scream.

Jacobson was in my shower without the water on, his body lolling to the side as his bloated tongue and bulging eyes slowly swiveled to face me. The cord of my hairdryer tied from his throat to my shower head.

He'd hung himself.

I bolted from the bathroom, tripping and falling to my knees hard. Gasping through air in quick shallow breaths I scrambled from the floor to the front door, tearing open the new deadbolt and chain. I need to get out of here, get away from the apartment, the flower, the bathroom, away from Jacobson. Throwing open the door I ran out.

And straight into Scarecrow's embrace.

I looked up from his thin chest into his hood, his wide grimacing string mouth and the dark pits of his eyes. For a moment I felt the culmination of every winter's chill crush my heart in true, simple fear. I couldn't sustain my tenuous grip with reality and slumped forward, my eyes rolled back as I collapsed into senselessness.


	5. Chapter 5

_**CHAPTER 5**_

I jerked awake under a splash of ice water. I coughed, blinking away droplets. I tried to wipe them off but couldn't move my arms. Shaking my head I squinted down at myself. Slowly warming ice water crawled down my body, my hair sticking to my face and cheeks. I sat bound to a wooden chair in my pajamas. I grimaced as the cool liquid ran down my thighs. Of all the nights I had to sleep in my underwear and a tank top. My wrists were bound separately to the back of the chair on either side, my ankles similarly wrapped with rough rope and tied to either of the front legs. Testing the bindings I found them tight. If I flopped sideways onto the ground I'd crush one of my hands. Blinking up at the flickering bare light bulb above, I remembered how I'd got here. My stomach turned.

"Awaken, child." I jolted in my seat, shoulders hunching up to my ears at the voice right behind me. Slowly, so slowly, someone moved into view. Looking up from my curled position, I swallowed past a dry throat.

Scarecrow.

He was a specter, a wraith wearing human flesh. His body was a caricature, stretched tall and lean. The divot of each rib was visible, the hollow of his stomach bringing to mind starvation and slow death. Dressed in burlap and dirty cloth wraps, I felt my stomach clench when I saw the glowing orange tool adorning his right arm. I bit my lips together to keep them from trembling.

"Rooosemaaariiie Kiiim," he murmured, drawing out every syllable on a twisted tongue. I shivered.

"Did you like my gifts?" he tilted his head, his needled fingers skittering against each other. I didn't know what to say, didn't know if I _should_ say anything, so I just stared at the bogeyman as he swayed in front of me. He didn't seem bothered by my silence.

"Sometimes it's such a chore to shop for women, but not you. You responded so…well…" he whispered, clicking his needles and running them across the swell of my cheek. I froze, clenching my jaw. I stared up with wet eyes into the empty pits dominating his features.

"The foxgloves were my favorite, you understood so quickly. But I had so many more gifts to give," he stopped, becoming impossibly still as he mourned his plans, "however I couldn't have anyone else around you. I meant for you to wake and find the body in the morning, to feel violated and uprooted physically, mentally, and socially. I apologize for the circumstances; we shouldn't have progressed to this stage so quickly. It was an error of my own making," he confessed. I pulled back out of his poisonous touch, my shoulders knocking into the back of the chair.

"Wh-what do you mean?" I asked quietly. My voice was as sore and shaken as my body. Scarecrow's toxic contraption stayed motionless from where he'd touched me, then he pulled it back to inspect the needles. He moved each joint of each finger as he looked curiously over his hand.

"Our courtship isn't ready for this stage," he said darkly, his fingers curling into a claw. He looked sharply at me, his arm dropping lifelessly to his side. "Or were you asking about the other man?" he wondered aloud. "I gave him access to his greatest fears. He indulged fully into what rules his life and took his own to escape the responsibility." I didn't blink as fat tears rolled down my face.

He's insane.

He's completely insane.

Scarecrow dropped to a knee at my side, his poisonous claws ghosting over my shivering flesh as he rubbed his naked hand over my face, warm fingers wiping away the moisture.

"Shhh, don't waste tears on pain," he consoled softly. I felt my chest hitch, a sob caught in my throat. I couldn't stop it as I silently cried harder, shoulders shaking while Scarecrow continued to coo and whisper reassurances, his touch almost paternal.

"Don't t-touch me!" I choked, ducking from his hands. For a moment, it seemed he'd let me go, but then the hands were back. He gripped my jaw hard, twisting my neck painfully so I had to face him once more, the needle covered hand anxiously pushing wet hair from my face. He studied me. Even without seeing his face I could feel his clinical gaze digging into each pit of my exposed emotional state.

"In time I won't even need to touch you," he said thoughtfully, "but for now," he brought the needles back into view and held me fast while I tried to jerk back, "I will touch you as I wish." He scraped four long needles around the curve of my neck and pushed his free thumb into my mouth. Surprised, my jaw went slack. His sweaty, disgusting digit pressed against my lips and tongue before pulling my jaw open. I had a moment to see his hand poised like a cobra before it struck, a single needle pricking the gums in the back of my mouth. A hot stinging spread of poison webbed through my flesh, the toxic fix absorbing into my blood almost instantly.

Scarecrow pulled the needle back, tilting his head again as he massaged his thumb against my tongue. My head felt heavy, my struggling dumbing down to weak bites that only seemed to amuse the wraith. When my head finally lolled back against the chair Scarecrow retracted his thumb, a long strand of saliva connecting us before it broke.

I watched as Scarecrow slowly blurred. When his body fused with the darkness surrounding him I realized I was alone. Weakly I raised my head and searched my surroundings. Empty darkness.

No, there was something out there.

I squinted, my head swimming as I tried to focus my eyes.

Wait, there it was again.

I followed the movement for a time, my heart steadily speeding up before my mind could figure out why. The shape inched forward, pooling dark oil beneath itself. Like the crack of a whip I realized what I was looking at, every sense I had going into overdrive. It was all I could see, all I could smell, the incoherent mumbling the only sound to accompany the rush in my ears. Viciously I ripped my wrists against my bindings, seeing everything I didn't want to as it came closer. Gasping through barred teeth I felt my body chill with sweat. The object slowly twisted, exposing its face.

My throat tore open with a scream.

.

.

.

_**/AN:**__ I'm a fan of Scarecrow bein' totally nutter butters, the kind of monster that likes to play with his food. Also I think I might have a thing for dangerous objects in scared girls' mouths? Guess ya learn something new about yourself everyday…  
__**Batfangirl7773: **Thanks! I update regularly because I have the story finished before posting (usually, for this one I still had around three chapters left but they're done now). One of my biggest peeves is when stories have super irregular updates, it's a major suspense and pacing killer for the reader IMO and for something with a spooky theme like this I think it'd really screw with the atmosphere if readers had to wait weeks to see what happens next**/**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**CHAPTER 6**_

I found out later I'd been victim to the fear toxin for eleven hours before the GCPD got me the antidote. Scarecrow had left an intentional trail; he'd wanted me to be found. I'd been left in my pajamas tied to a chair in the middle of a condemned building that used to be a kids restaurant, the kind with the singing animatronic animal band. I'm not sure why that factoid struck me as so important. I guess I was just hanging onto anything, digging my thoughts into whatever innocent subject matter I could find because when I stopped for even a moment I was back tied to the chair.

Sitting in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV bag, I was trying to solve a crossword puzzle but my hand kept shaking and dropping the pencil. I'd rubbed the skin ringing my wrists and ankles off, the thick bandages covering the wounds already stained with a garnet blush. The fingers on my right hand were all wrapped in splints, broken. At some point during the episode I'd fallen to the side and crushed my hand, although I remembered it happening very differently.

Commissioner Gordon quietly entered the room, giving me a nod while he settled into the nearby visitor's chair. We'd met before and he'd already talked to me when I was first recovering lucidity. My arms broke out into gooseflesh; I twisted to face something before I knew it was there, every sense on edge. Batman stood next to the open window.

"I don't know, I didn't do anything. He was under the old factory, I didn't know, I went under and he chased me and he found me up here too. He took a picture of my bed, gave me flowers. Dead man's bells. They're in my fridge. Killed Jacobson. Poisoned him, he's in my shower," I chattered in a hoarse whisper. I'd been screaming so long under the toxin's influence it hurt to speak. Batman was watching me silently. I want him to go away, something about the darkness of his armor made me uncomfortable, like he'd swallow me up.

"Why do you think Scarecrow took you?" the commissioner asked. I dropped my pencil again and tried to pick it up with my good hand.

"He said something. Something important," I paused, trying to sort through the tsunami of images and clips of information from the encounter. The fear toxin was brutal. Even hours after exposure and being treated with the antidote I still wasn't fully in control of my mind or body anymore. "Something about," I tapped my fingers together on my injured right hand, imitating how Scarecrow would clack his needles, "touching. Me." I looked to the right of Batman, watching him from my peripheral. "Tried to get help. I talked to the cops. They told me to buy a gun," I laughed sharply, my puffy red eyes drawing wide, "that's terrible advice. I'm poor."

Commissioner Gordon cleared his throat, drawing my attention. "Rosemarie right now you're still heavily influenced by the toxin. When it's left your system we'll send you for an evaluation, I'm sure you'll do fine," he had such a fatherly way about him. "If you'd like I can have my people check in on you periodically. Do you have anyone you can stay with?"

I nervously plucked at my gown. "No, I'll just go back home when the…crime scene is cleaned up," I rasped. Gordon sighed tightly but didn't say anything. "But the check ups would be nice, thanks."

True to form the commissioner had kept his word. I passed the psych evaluation and spent the rest of the day recounting to multiple people the events leading up to the evening prior. It was close to two days before I finally got back to my apartment, one cop at my side to help ease my fears. We both walked the entire room; I even peeked into the bathroom. I could still see him hanging there even after the body had been removed. I'd just use the showers at the gym or something. I gave the all clear and the officer left, promising someone would stop by every few hours to see how I'm doing. That didn't feel particularly comforting. Scarecrow was quick, he was smart, and if he wanted to get me I doubted any cop would be able to get in his way.

Locking, chaining, and dead bolting my door wasn't enough. I dragged a chair over and jammed it against the doorknob. I wore my clothes and shoes to bed and left the lights on. Still unable to sleep I grabbed a steak knife and slept with it gripped in a sweaty palm.


	7. Chapter 7

_**CHAPTER 7**_

"Hi Mom," I yawned, dropping into the chair across from her in the recreation room. I hid my splinted fingers in the pouch of my hoodie. She smiled down at the table.

"Rosie Mary, I haven't seen you since you were a baby," she chastised. I leaned an elbow on the table, resting my chin in my hand and watching her with sleepy eyes. "You saw me last week, actually." That gave her pause; she brought the marker off the table and frowned at me, her eyebrows drawn together.

"I know. I'm not stupid."

"I didn't say you were."

"So how's college?" she went back to coloring, leaning forward so that her dull black hair curtained her features.

"I told you I didn't go to school. I work construction and demolition now." That was the easy explanation but not exactly true. I didn't feel like getting into the nitty gritty of the difference. Again.

"Rose what would your father think? I can't believe this, where did I go wrong," she lamented, scribbling harder.

"He'd understand and you didn't do anything wrong, you were a great mom," I assured her. She ignored me in favor of folding her drawing into an origami jumping frog. "How have you been?"

"Fine, fine. Sometimes I miss the pretty blue eyed man, though," her expression crumpled into a deep sadness as she made the origami frog jump across the table. I noticed a pile of familiar shapes. Simple origami girls. She'd used to make them when I was small. She'd laugh and say it was her 'real little girl' whenever I demanded to be treated like an adult or complain that I didn't want to wear overalls in middle school.

"Dad had brown eyes."

"Obviously!" she snapped, rolling her eyes. I smiled a little.

"So who's the pretty blue eyed man?"

"_He's_ not pretty, the _blue_ is pretty. He's pretty ugly. But I can't remember. Sometimes he's in my nightmares, always surrounded by birds," she said offhandedly. I nodded and didn't prod anymore, realizing this was just another one of her delusions.

When I was sixteen my parents had been in a bank when it was robbed by Two-Face. The firefight with the GCPD ended with my dad getting caught in the crossfire and his untimely death. It had changed my mother, she started abusing medications and becoming unstable. The year I was supposed to leave for college she'd slit her wrists in the tub, I'd found her in time but she was too sick to be on her own. She ended up in the care of the state, sent to Arkham Asylum for a few years while I opted out of school and worked to get enough money to get her out of that hellhole. I don't know what happened in Arkham but she'd come back so much worse.

Now she was in an assisted living facility, free to build scribbly origami creatures as much as she wants. I'd given up hope of her getting well but as long as she was happy and safe I guess that was good enough.

Finishing up my visit I got up to leave but she yanked me back by the sleeve. I waited while she dug through the pockets of her cardigan until her face lit up and she shoved something into my hand.

"He'd like you to have it, I think," she smiled. I inspected the small origami gift.

A pitch-black paper crow.


	8. Chapter 8

_**CHAPTER 8**_

The weeks passed by painlessly, I even got my fingers healed up and out of the splints. My crew got a new supervisor and I was back to work. My peers were skittish around me but no one had openly accused me of being the catalyst of Jacobson's death. They were thinking it, I could see the worried shame in their eyes, but I couldn't blame them. It _was_ my fault, after all.

The police house calls were either doing the trick or Scarecrow had lost interest. There were no more insidious gifts or orange glowing toxins that teased the mental instability hidden under my brittle smile.

That didn't do much for my sense of safety. I still woke up in a pool of my own sweat with my hand cramping over a knife handle. I was being ridiculous; Scarecrow wasn't someone that was in it for the slow torture. He'd scared me and that's all he wanted, I'm pretty sure. He drank down fear like milk and honey but he was gluttonous, took it from his victims all at once instead of in small sips. I'd even looked up some of his past victims and the survivors. The ones that didn't suffer psychotic breaks, kill themselves, die from reactions to the fear toxin or overdose, seemed to live the rest of their lives just fine. They just had to look over their shoulder. Forever.

My crew and I were set up with clearing out an abandoned portion of Gotham's underground subway tunnels. There was interest for fixing up the tunnel and using it as a nightclub, which I thought was a pretty cool idea. Clubs weren't my thing, I'd rather drink myself into oblivion alone with a bunch of 80's movies, but to each his own.

Everyone prepped in their safety gear of work boots, hard hats, gloves, eyewear, and white breathing masks. We checked our walkies were working on full battery life, clicked on our headlamps, dropped a few unbroken glow sticks and flashlights into our belts, and headed off. I'd dressed appropriately for the chilly underground in a thermal long sleeved shirt and jeans, my fluorescent orange and reflective yellow vest topping off the whole ensemble.

Back in my element I was comfortable. Stomping through gravel and trash ridden walkways I felt the rhythm of the job settle over me. I made it to the end of the platform and jumped down off the tiled ledge down onto the tracks. Watching my step so I wouldn't trip over the metal rails I trudged through the dark tunnel, sweeping my bobbing headlamp side to side while I searched for squatters.

Every now and then my talkie would crackle with menial crew chatter. I'd jumped once or twice, my breath hitching when a rat would bolt over my shoes. Forcing open a door to a maintenance closet my light bloomed hazily through dusty air. My steps churned up clouds of particles as I shuffled through the room, noting a few long abandoned sheets piled in the corner. Wrappers and cans cluttered the floor but the thick cobwebs coating everything told me this place hadn't been lived in for a long time.

Shutting the door behind me I continued on down the tunnel. The walkie spat out that someone had found a porn magazine stash, wanted to know if anyone was interested. Everyone immediately jumped at the opportunity to volunteer each other and crack puns; a few of them were pretty good. I was giggling, kicking idly at a can when my headlamp dimmed to an amber yellow. I immediately stopped and grabbed the device off my helmet, rapping my knuckles against the casing and battery pack. I squinted when the light flared up then stuttered and flicked off.

"You can't be serious," I hissed. Sighing irritably I snapped the dead lamp back on my helmet and reached for my spare flashlight.

It wasn't there.

I smacked my hands over my entire tool belt, searching every holster and loop I could've put it in. Nothing, it wasn't there. I didn't forget it, that's an amateur's mistake, right? But that's the only explanation unless it'd dropped off my belt at some point. Sliding a glow stick from my belt I cracked it against my forearm and shook it out, activating the chartreuse tinted chemicals. The tunnel slowly filled with the sickly yellow light, deep darkness drinking down the illumination only about ten feet in front of me.

This subway wasn't any more or any less creepy than the other condemned and crumbling places I'd been to before. I have a high tolerance for the dark, it's a necessity for this kind of work, but with all the shit that's been happening recently I was on edge. The silent thrum of the above ground city life gave the tunnel a dull, dead heartbeat. The further I walked with my modest light the colder the air became, the more cramped and heavy the darkness grew. I couldn't resist the urge to look over my shoulder.

The blueprints I'd reviewed earlier had this tunnel end around 400 feet. That's a football field and another third and I'd travelled at least half that total distance by now. It felt so much longer in the dark, having to pick my way over mummified dead animals and moldy newspapers.

I made it to the end of the abandoned tunnel, coming to a junction with a railway that was still in operation. Waving my glow stick around the mouth of the tunnel I didn't find anything structurally unsound or signs of people living here. I can't imagine how anyone sane could live down here. Being underground with no sunlight and only the company your own thoughts. I'd watched my mom buckle under the weight of her own unstable mind. It worried me that I had that same potential.

Maybe I really oughtta find a new line of work.

Jamming the glow stick in my armpit I pulled my walkie-talkie from my belt.

"I got nothin' on the end of hall 2, I'll be heading back now," I reported. I received an affirmative a moment later and began forward, awkwardly stuffing the device back into my belt. Yawning into the back of my hand I executed a lengthy stretch, throwing my arms over my head and popping my back. Falling into my usual slouch I started the walk back, twirling the glow stick like a baton.

My stomach growled, the rumbling sound locked and amplified in the stony tunnel. When I get home I'm going to cook a frozen pizza. I frowned, a dart of guilt burrowing into my gut. Fucking Jacobson. It's my fault he's dead but he shouldn't have come over. I didn't even invite him. I kicked a moldy box, sending a cloud of spores into the air. I even told him I thought Scarecrow was stalking me; there was literally nothing else I could do unless I'd called the cops and forced him out. And now, whenever I think of pizza I'm going to undergo this gross wave of guilt. I pushed my protective eyewear aside and rubbed a wrist over my eyes. Replacing the eyepiece, I stilled.

Far ahead, well away from my pathetic circle of light, I saw it.  
The drifting orange glow.

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_**/AN:** **Replies :3**_  
_**kabusakuGirl:** Thanks! Hopefully that means I'm making progress since I wrote this story more recently. I kinda want to write a different Croc story later on because I don't think I did the character justice, but we'll see.  
AND YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE EMBARRASSED FOR LIKING CRANE'S FACE OMG IF ONLY YOU KNEW THE CREEPS I WANNA SMOOCH!  
In the last chapter the 'he's pretty ugly' comment was more about his 'hobbies' and personality than actual features. I don't plan on de-masking him this story,__ just a very NSFW scene in the last chap :X  
__but I do think I'd like to do another thing on Crane someday. He scares me so it's hard to write him as a 'normal' guy ;__b_

_Arkham Knight is already stressing me out, I'm pretty freaked that Scarecrow is going to go after Waylon for trying to eat him. And with Mr. Jones's progressing Atavism he's not exactly gonna be able to out think or escape Gotham's Master of Terror D:  
And then Eddie's also completely lost his mind, wearing his pajamas in public now. Poor, poor, mentally unstable boys._

You have a great week too!**/**


	9. Chapter 9

_**CHAPTER 9**_

I couldn't move. I clutched the glow stick to my chest and locked my eyes on the vile orange light. My intuition was screaming for me to move but I couldn't do it. We remained like that for a moment longer.

then the orange rushed forward.

I twisted back, turning to run from my pursuer. Too bad the ground was littered with debris. My foot caught on a pile of papers and dust and I crashed to my knees. Clusters of sparkling pain shot through my joints but I didn't hesitate to further drive my limbs into the ground and propel myself forward. Stumbling into a run I tore through the tunnel, breathing already ragged. The glow stick clenched in my sweaty fist bobbed up and down as I ran. The sour yellow light proved nearly useless as it flashed from my hip to my shoulder, throwing twisted shadows over everything.

My heart was hitting an uneven tempo, the entire tunnel shaking as I ran. Along with the scrape of my boots and the quiet slap of my pursuer's feet there was a howling that shook through the air. The faster I ran the louder it got, deafening. Almost at the junction I doubled my efforts, knowing a crowded platform would aid me in escaping. Just as I reached the end of my tunnel a metal cart shrieked past my face. Screaming, I stumbled backwards, sweating pouring down my neck and back even in the underground chill. Gasping for breath I turned around caught between Scarecrow and the thundering iron carriages. The hooded wraith stepped closer, illuminated by the flashes of the train windows.

"Leave me alone!" I screamed, throat burning. Pissed, I hurled the glow stick at him. It dropped harmlessly to the ground just past him. My whole body shook with the heavy rumbling of the train behind me, my stomach running cold as I watched Scarecrow lazily flex his needled fingers. He just watched me, he wouldn't move. I looked around, hunching my shoulders anxiously. What the fuck was he waiting for?

The train passed, sucking away all light and sound with it. I took a shaky step back

Scarecrow moved with the ease of a midnight tide. He'd surged forward like a snake, catching me before I had a chance to react. I brought up my hands and shoved into his chest. My elbows and wrists jarred painfully but I managed to knock the monster back, buying a little time. Ducking to the side I ran past Scarecrow and back down the tunnel. I pumped my limbs as I ran blind. My muscles and throat burned and I constantly tripped and stumbled. I didn't dare slow down for a moment. He'd get me. Gasping for air, sweat sticking my hair to my neck, I knew my only hope was to make it back to my crew.

My ankle twisted out from under me. I heard something crack as my front met the ground, my helmet flung off ahead of me. Digging my fingers into the dusty dredge I tried to crawl forward but it was too late, he'd caught hold of my hair. Shrieking I grabbed at the ground, tearing hair from my scalp as I tried to get away. His bandaged hand slid over my mouth and nose, a chemical odor biting into my sinuses. I tried not to breath when I realized what he was doing but it was no use, I'd already gotten a lungful. The chloroform quickly burned away my consciousness.

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_**/AN:** **Replies :3**_  
_**Happy Reader:** Oh gosh, thank you!_  
_I do research as I go but mostly just make it up as I go (I live in constant fear of people w real jobs in the industry reading this stuff haha)  
I don't really like the trope for these Batman Asylum stories where people work as therapists in the asylum so I try to be really outlandish with my characters' jobs. Also I like girls in hard hats and safety vests..._  
_I don't know for sure about anything in Arkham Knight, I'm just guessing using clues. Scarecrow's gonna be the big bad in Arkham Knight and since Croc attacked him in Asylum...I'm a lil worried about the big scaly boy**/**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**CHAPTER 10**_

I was strapped to a chair again. This time around my bindings were thick leather straps with a cloth underside. I groggily pulled against them. No use, too tight. Licking my chapped lips I leaned back and rested my throbbing head against the back of the plush armchair. Someone had bothered to rip into the armrests to anchor the leather straps so I could sit almost comfortably. My ankles were similarly stuck to the clawed wooden legs. Whoever did it must have had my comfort in mind because they'd also removed my work boots, belt, gloves, and face protection. My chair was in front of a low fold out table, a mismatched collection of ugly fat candles puttering out dim ugly light. I watched the candles dumbly as my vision refocused, that's when I noticed the woman on the other side of the table.

"Mom?" I croaked. I broke out into a coughing fit from the dryness of my throat, leaning over so I wouldn't blow out the only sources of illumination. When I recovered I saw her almond shaped eyes glinting in the scant light.

"Hi honey, are you hungry? You look like you're wasting away," she whispered. My eyebrows pulled together and I tried to get a handle on the situation, figure out where we were. I couldn't see anything past the weak haven of flickering candle light.

"Mom what are you doing here, where are we?" I asked, the throbbing in my head doubling as I spoke. She looked at me for a moment longer before dropping to focus on something on the table; I couldn't see it with the candles' waxy pillars blocking the way.

"When are you going to give me grand children? I'm going to be an old grasshopper soon," she sighed. I tugged at my restraints, peering into the dark worriedly.

"Listen to me, Mom focus on me, we have to get out of here. Can you move? I'm tied down I need you to come over here and help me out," I urged. She started swinging her head back and forth, still staring down at what she was doing on the tabletop.

"Young lady I don't know where you learned to speak to your mother that way but – "

"Mom we have to go! _Help me_," I begged, my hurt voice cracking with stress. The throb in my head began to fade into cold panic. She shrugged, then leaned back and lifted the origami creature she'd been working on. A bright red paper girl.

"_Mom_."

"He helped me. He'll help you too. Dr. Crane promised," she mumbled to herself. She lowered the paper girl into the candle flames. I opened my mouth but nothing came out as the doll blackened. The small pointed feet curled and floated away into black ash. The burning scent filled my nose as I watched the last scraps of origami disappear between my mother's smudged black fingers. She rubbed the soiled digits together, curiously looking down at the silky onyx soot.

"It's done. I can leave now," she said heavily, her eyes glowing with the candlelight. I didn't know what to say. It shouldn't matter that she'd burned that paper girl but it wasn't just paper and flame. I couldn't find the words or the understanding that should've been there. My mom had severed one of the last connectors I had to her before the illness. Looking past the candles at the soft shadows flickering over her round features I wondered if my mother was even there anymore. Then I saw the orange vials creeping over her shoulder like a tentative spider.

"DON'T TOUCH HER!" I shrieked, bucking against my restraints. My mom looked at me sharply, frowning and furrowing her brow as Scarecrow stepped into the light behind her. He rested both his hands on her shoulders, leaning forward.

"Remember when you used to behave like that Mrs. Kim?" Scarecrow murmured, rubbing my mom's shoulders. She sighed, leaning back comfortably into his grip, her eyes drifting closed.

"Yes Dr. Crane," she sighed contentedly. I reared back, yanking at the leather but made sure to watch that needled hand. "Mom why are you calling him that?" I grit. She didn't respond but Scarecrow laughed quietly.

"How else would a patient refer to their doctor?" he spoke as if there were a smile hidden under the threaded maw of his hood. A spike of ice hit my stomach.

"Mom he's not your doctor, whatever he said is a lie he's crazy – Mom _listen to me_," I begged, yearning for her to just look at me and see the desperation in my eyes. Scarecrow tutted.

"You're right she is too willful for her own good, even denying reality to fit her views," he admonished. My mother nodded. "She's always been like that, even before her father died. I worry she'll never find a husband and give me grandchildren," she said wearily.

"Quit talking like you know him!" I screamed. Scarecrow's hands stilled, my mom lifted her head to look at me with a frown.

"I do know him, Rosemarie. Dr. Crane's the man who helped me at Arkham," she spoke as if I were stupid. Before I could get a word in the hooded specter cut me off. "Mrs. Kim was one of my favorite patients before my expulsion, we spoke of you many times, Rosemarie. You and your father's fates were at the forefront of your mother's fears. She was a very fruitful test subject," he explained.

I slumped back in my seat, my scalp prickling as I starred sightlessly into the candle flames. I'd been so busy trying to get enough money to get her out of Arkham I'd never paid attention to her actual doctors. The man who'd become Scarecrow was discovered performing horrible tests on patients almost a year after I'd gotten her out. It had never occurred to me that he'd been in contact with her much less treated her.

"Now that that's cleared up I'd like to get started."

.

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_**/AN:**__ THIS STORY IS GETTING MAD FUCKED UP AND I HAD NO IDEA IT WAS GOING TO TURN OUT THIS WAY. What the hell, I honestly feel kinda bad about it. Scarecrow freaks me right the hell out tho_

_**REPLIES!**_

_**ScaryCrow: **omg stop it ur making me blush you cutie pie UvU I hope you enjoy the rest of the story  
**  
kabusakuGirl:** YOU'VE READ MTNN TOO? WHAT?! Neuro was my biggest manga crush, that puzzle eating bastard. My type is **monster boy** so Neuro fits right in. I remember reading it back in middle school on onemanga when it was still being translated, wow so freakin' long ago, ya know? Have you watched the anime? It's only about one season but it's actually not that bad. VERY DIFFERENT THO, so tread with caution. If you've got a day to burn you should check it out, should all be on youtube. _

_On the topic of Crane's mad nuts crazy new character design: I really didn't like his look in the Arkham Knight trailer - at first. He looked so...boring. Lacking that Gotham Costumed Criminal magic. So I got to thinking, how the canisters are strapped to him are obviously reminiscent of how a suicide bomber would prep, and why wouldn't he dress like that? He's called Scarecrow so maybe as a more immature villain he would dress as his concept, but as he evolves into the Master of Fear why wouldn't he want to inspire panic the MOMENT a person looks at him? And with today's world the generic image of a suicide bomber creates a gut wrench panicked reaction in most people. So idk, I think it's lacking in the creative front, but still makes sense. Doesn't look bad, by any means so I'm gonna let it pass. But the toxin claws look fuckin' dope as hell mm, love it. And I agree about his voice it's REALLY good and sounds REALLY ominous but doesn't really fit Jonathan Crane_

_ALSO JUST TO NITPICK: he has respirator filters plugged onto his mask but his mouth is clearly exposed along with his nose. So unless he's breathing through a tracheotomy (which we've established he can't be because his voice would be influenced) then that's a huge design flaw that makes no fucking sense. Now I'm wondering if he's surgically implanted filters in his throat so he can exist with no problem in the fear gas. Maybe his voice sounds normalish by the power of comics or something**/**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**CHAPTER 11**_

I'm not an emotional being. I have subsisted on convenience store sushi and gas station hot dogs for years. The most human contact I need I can find in a book or at the bar. My job is for a person who works with their hands and the facts, there's no room for interpretation or feelings when it comes to deciding whether or not a building is going to come crashing down around you.

Emotional complexity is a mystery for someone like me. I'd locked up shop somewhere after my dad died and sometime before I realized I had to take care of my mom. Friends and boyfriends always ended up leaving after they understood there was nothing below the surface. While I went to bars and cracked jokes, and while I stayed home alone and read romance novels and watched horror flicks, somewhere under my skin and smile I'd simply stopped existing.

So after a lifetime of perfecting an image and a façade I was faced with a man who didn't care about my carefully constructed being. His existence was based around ripping what I'd tried to control right out of me. If I had to put my apathy against his insanity the outcome was obvious.

Scarecrow was petting my mother's hair, murmuring quietly to her. From the way she leaned sleepily against him I couldn't imagine what he was saying. How anyone, even ill, could find solace in that _thing_ I didn't understand. His long needles teased her scalp.

"What are you scared of Rosie?" my mother asked quietly. I'd long since given up trying to escape my bindings, my wrists and ankles were now sore and probably blistered. It stung. I didn't answer her.

"Don't be insolent, child. Your mother asked you a question," Scarecrow chastised. My stomach turned.

"Don't talk to me like you're my father," I grit back, glaring. He continued to run his fingers through my mother's hair, occasionally brushing his knuckles against her throat.

"That's no way to speak to Dr. Crane. Now answer the question, Rosie" my mother murmured.

"He's manipulating you, he's making you ask that," I tried to reason with her. She cracked her eyes open.

"If you don't answer your father will leave me again. Is that what you want?" tears were filling her eyes. I looked at her, aghast. Her delusions were usually harmless. Now it was like she was saying these things to hurt me. Scarecrow moved his hand, posing the toxin tipped needles over her exposed throat. The threat was clear.

"I don't know, spiders. Slugs. Getting caught in a cave in," I threw out. Scarecrow began pressing the needles into her neck. "Uh! Dying alone, being a complete fuck up, _him!_" I shouted. It didn't matter, he plunged all four needles into her throat. Her eyes bulged, she grabbed at his wrist for a moment before her grip went slack and she slumped back. I watched helplessly as she convulsed once, twice, then stiffened with wide, scared eyes. Her fingernails dug into the armchair as she pushed herself back into the cushions. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her eyes frantically followed something only she could see.

"What did you do?" I rasped, my throat tightening. Scarecrow leaned over her, stroking her face with the back of his hand, the vials of toxin illuminating her skin. The action so reminiscent of something I'd seen my father do. I felt sick.

"It's a shame. To be so beautiful yet only show it when tempered by terror," he whispered. I grimaced at the intimacy then jerked stock still when he turned sharply to face me. He was around the table and gripping my jaw before I had the chance to blink.

"Do you think that beauty runs in the family?" he asked. I tried to rip myself away but his grip was too strong. He leaned in too close, bracing one arm over the back of my chair as he slid one leg between my open knees. The noose around his neck fell forward against my chest.

"Get away from me," I whispered. I was trembling in my bindings, repulsed by his closeness. Scarecrow lurched forward, the filter in his mask brushing against my cheek. I ducked to the side, leaning as far from him as I could but he simply followed me. The hair on my neck rose as I felt the breath of his air filter against my neck.

"Do not ask for things you do not want," he hissed softly. I cringed as one of his hands slid from my exposed throat down my arm. When the pressure of my binding disappeared I whipped to face the newly freed limb. He stepped back but remained too close for me to breath properly.

"Free yourself."

I didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. I undid the remaining buckles in record time and was met with a soft trailing of needles across the fabric over my thigh. I looked up at him through my loose black hair. He waited to make sure I got the message before slowly retracting his claws. I rose from the chair, never moving my eyes from the toxic weapon.

"We'll be leaving now, your mother must have her privacy in this time," he began leading me away. I barely glanced at where we were going; I was so focused on his toxin, so when a door was shut and locked I looked up in surprise. He stood in front of the door, as much a physical barrier as a mental one.

"Rosemarie I'm worried about your dishonesty," he confessed. I blinked, the tightness in my shoulders going momentarily slack in confusion.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You lied to your mother and I. I'm disappointed, you know you can tell me anything," he took a step closer. I matched him, backing away.

"What did I lie to you about?" I shot back, sweat rolling down my neck. I hated the way he talked, like we were acquainted, as if he were some fatherly figure. It got under my skin like a parasite.

"Your fears. What truly makes you scared isn't death or shame. You and I both know what it is," he continued closer, forcing me back until my hip knocked into a wooden workbench.

"What is it?" I whispered hoarsely. He stepped between my legs, running dirty blunt nails under the fabric of my shirt. I turned away, biting my lip so I wouldn't scream as he caressed my stomach.

"_What you buried under your skin_."

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_**/AN: Replies :  
****nicsnort:** I don't read a lot of Scarecrow but now I wanna take a look, there's gotta be some great scary fics out there.  
I have no idea why I didn't even consider him being immune to the fear gas. And it makes a lotta of sense for him to wear the filters out of habit and keep repairing them despite them being broken, like it's a compulsion. I love when the mental illness shows through idk it's just really charming, ya feel me?**  
**_

_**kabusakuGirl:** Oh jesus I forgot about how they ended the Sai thing yeah that was bad D:_  
_I'm so keyed up about Batman video games this is so stupid. I should be focusing on getting good grades or finding a husband but NOPE._

_BATMAN. VIDEO. GAMES. **/**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**CHAPTER 12**_

_**/AN: **__Y'all know what this warning's for__**/**_

"Get off!" I snarled, forcing an elbow against his chest as he closed the gap between us.

"Behave yourself," Scarecrow commanded, "wouldn't want me to leave like your father and mother, would you?" he flexed his needled fingers. I was so focused on the weapon I didn't feel his fingers tighten into the fabric of my shirt. He yanked up sharply, nearly hitting me in the chin, the fabric bunching just above my breasts. Cold air kissed my exposed flesh, the only thing preserving my modesty being the maroon cups of my bra.

Screaming, I shoved against him. He responded with a subtle needle prick just under my breast. My struggles stilled momentarily, eyes gone wide. The fear toxin was already in me. I couldn't hope to fight off the nightmare on top of me and in my blood. Scarecrow didn't have as many qualms as I and had snaked his fingers into the waistband of my jeans. I hitched up my knee and shoved it against his middle, losing my balance and falling back on the workbench as I tried to keep my pants up and push him away simultaneously.

The denim loops were ripped from my hands, the heavy cloth pulled down and off. I growled venomously as his rough thumb pressed into the soft skin of my inner thigh and shoved the limb down. Twisting, I managed to kick him in the chest and force him back. Breathing raggedly I seized the opportunity and lunged for the door. I have to get out before the toxin starts working; if I can just find my walkie – it's gotta be down here somewhere.

Scarecrow hooked me around the waist and brutally flung me into the workbench. I gasped at the impact, pain flaring across my back. I felt weakness flood my body as the toxin began to make its presence known. My trembling muscles made my movements sluggish. Desperately I threw an elbow at the wraith's jaw. I shrieked when pain bolted through my arm from the hard impact of his respirator. He wasn't fazed and took the opportunity to grip my hips and lift me back onto the bench. I felt him step between my knees, the scratchy burlap burning my thighs.

"Why are you doing this?" I choked. Tears were pooling in my eyes as I watched the slender demon press closer. He lowered his poisoned hand, running the syringe tips over the plump swells of my breasts to the elastic on my underwear. Small red beads rose through the trail of broken skin. He dipped the very tips of the needles under the edge of my panties.

"My girl, you are in chaos, and there is no better teacher than fear," Scarecrow whispered. I covered my mouth, tears flowing fresh and hot down my cheeks. As I starred up into the deep empty eyes of the hood I felt him pierce his needles into my flesh. The sharp sting spread like drying acid over my abdomen. I cried out, biting the knuckles on my curled fingers. The needles lifted the elastic from my body and tore the soft cotton fabric away. I whimpered, pathetically trying to close my legs as he stood between them.

He pressed forward against me. I didn't look down; I just stared above into the black pits in his hood. My chest began to tighten as I waited for the unavoidable. He hooked one of my knees over his shoulder and bent me in half as he pressed the rough fabric covering his body against my exposed sex. I cringed at the friction, covering my face as a throb pulsed through my womanhood.

This can't be happening. I began to flush pink under my hands, my ears burning as tears rolled back into my hairline. He was _forcing_ himself on me; I can't just let him -

My rebellion died as I felt a sudden slickness spread through my lower lips. Scarecrow ripped my hands from my face, shoving my raw wrists painfully back onto the bench and leaning down close enough to kiss.

"Look at me."

I turned sharply to the side, shame and lust warring in across my features.

"Look at me."

He bucked, the rough burlap eliciting a horrible gasp from me as sharp phantom yearning flowed through my body. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head.

"_Look at me_," he snarled. I opened my eyes, staring into his hideous mask. I bit my trembling lip, grimacing through bubbling tears and quiet whines. He removed his hands from my wrists but quickly dispelled any thoughts of escape as he held my throat with the needled hand. I waited the long torturous moments as he freed his cock, pressing the head hard and hot against the sweet wetness of my body.

Darkly, bitterly, in the blackest most broken part of my soul I felt something crack. My eyes flew open wide, the breath leaving my lungs for a cold chill. Scarecrow saw the damage in my eyes. He'd been waiting for it.

I screamed as he entered me in one piercing thrust. My body jerked back on the table from the force. He pressed our beings together, my leg over his shoulder knocking against my neck as he compressed us into one gruesome primal action. He pulled back in cruel slowness, drawing every fluttery clench of my drugged body out before plunging in hilt deep. I moaned, grabbing onto the edge of the workbench as his thrusts built in harshness and speed.

The warmth in my core spread, my heart swelling. My knee knocked against my cheek as the pumps battered my sensitive cunt, juices from our primeval actions spilling between the softness of my thighs. Suddenly his grip on my throat began to tighten, his other hand pulling down the cups of my bra and exposing the hard pink buds and plush breasts beneath. Fighting his grip I found I couldn't catch my breath. Wheezing, I grabbed onto his wrist as Scarecrow continued to fondle my breasts, painfully pinching my nipples. He clenched his toxic hand over my throat.

As my vision began to spot I panicked. I bucked and twisted under him, digging my nails into the flesh of his arm until it bled, trying to cry out for him to stop but nothing came save for more tears. Scarecrow took pleasure in my fear, pressing our bodies together until I could no longer discern our separation, his hips grinding into mine. His cock throbbed deeper and deeper into my cunt with every pump. I became light headed, my limbs falling limp. A tightness began to build as my erratic breathing was entirely cut off by his choking hand. Unable to breath my vision narrowed to a starry tunnel. My struggles came to a still, my hands falling back limply. I'm going to die.

Then the pressure released. I sparked back into life with a scream, my nails piercing Scarecrow's arm as the walls of my cunt tightened and pulsed over his cock. I arched off the table, sweat sticking my clothes to my back as my sight returned. I was baptized in fear and pleasure, my body and mind at war in our nightmarish union. All I could see was Scarecrow's hood and all I could feel were the piercing thrusts and slap of his body into mine. The crescendo had my entire body convulsing, every muscle pulsating with an unwanted orgasm. I was disgusted, horrified, ashamed, and yet I grabbed onto his shoulders and forced us together as my body tightened in sweet pulses over his.

His movements stuttered and he buried himself deeper than anyone had ever been in me. Sobbing, I felt him fill me. My free leg hung limply off the side of bench as his cock twitched and spilled his thick fluid inside. Catching my breath, he pulled back. My leg fell to the side and freed my sweaty body from under his. The chilly air struck my skin like a knife. For a moment longer I held onto the thick connection between out bodies, and then he pulled out leaving me cold and empty. I moaned shamefully when I felt the last spurts of his climax fall hot and welcome on my stomach. I remained on my back, his seed overflowing onto my thighs and buttocks. I breathed sorely through my battered throat, trying to fill my lungs. I still felt like I was going to pass out any moment, my head swimming on the luxury of orgasm.

Slowly, I pushed myself up. I winced at the soreness between my legs, pressing my thighs together and feeling a stickiness coating my skin. I looked up at the man and felt something blossom through my chest, something that revolted me to be there. I clenched a weak fist over my uneasy heart, gasping and sweaty. Scarecrow leered at me, dominating my world. He was sated as a man and a monster. The fear toxin flowed through my veins like a hot chill. As he neared me, the despair chilling my blood seemed to dissipate.

"You had your fun, let me go," I pleaded in a hushed voice. He traced the line of my jaw with a hot orange vial of toxin. I flinched.

"You may leave. If you can," he murmured. I grit my teeth, his insidious voice sent chills through my body. He knew what he'd done to me. I turned to face him again, biting my bottom lip to stop it from trembling. Scarecrow knew I couldn't do that. He'd broken my defenses down, brought what scared me most to the forefront. As he turned to leave, I felt fear invade my poisoned body. I stumbled from the workbench and grabbed at his arm, my heart thundering.

_Don't abandon me._

**THE END**

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_**/AN:**__ Do you guys know how hard I had to resist having him say, "the doctor is in" when he put his dick in her? Also first posted sex scene, so like...yeah_

_Okay if you guys don't get the ending it's because I'm a bad writer but here's the gist: Rosemarie had her parents leave her to raise herself at crucial points during her childhood (her father's abrupt death) and young womanhood (her mother's illness). She buried her abandonment issues because she had to, but she never actually dealt with the damages (HAHA APPROPRIATE LINE OF WORK, NERD). The fear toxin brought all that to the surface. Now she's back to square one, scared and terrified of being left alone again. _

_Sorry if I ended it too quickly, I didn't want to drag this one out over 15k words. I'm lazy and school is gutting my soul D:  
Thanks to everybody who read, and to anyone who did the extra follow/review stuff. I couldn't ask for nicer readers TvT_

_**Replies:  
**__**nicsnort:** Thanks for the recommendation, I haven't read Vayluh Arwen's** Fear Itself** but you had me at schizophrenia  
__**ScaryCrow: **oh stop it you U3U  
__**eme-mac-tir: **Thank you very much!**/**_


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